


All The Time, or None of It

by teamfreetitan



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Arguing, Established Relationship, Happy Ending, Hetalia Countries Using Human Names, Kissing, Light Angst, M/M, Secret Relationship, Sharing a Room
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-31
Updated: 2018-12-31
Packaged: 2019-10-01 06:01:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,062
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17238740
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/teamfreetitan/pseuds/teamfreetitan
Summary: Francis and Arthur are in a relationship, and no one knows. But, at the world meeting, as Francis sees how open and caring the engaged Ludwig and Feliciano are, he begins to feel neglected by his secret boyfriend, and becomes increasingly frustrated in his attempts to get Arthur to respond to his affection.





	All The Time, or None of It

At world meetings which lasted more than a day (and, with the way everyone bickered, that was most of them), hotels were booked double rooms. This, of course, had become a point of contention as the randomly generated pairs caused chaos, but it was the best way to get everyone in the same hotel as the meeting hall was in and save money. But sometimes you got people who absolutely could not share a room end up trying to sleep several meters apart, or an outgoing extrovert paired with a near silent nation. On the other hand, some people wanted to share a room, and they got paired separately until the entire thing became a whole room swapping mess.

So, doing what they tried to do best, they attempted a compromise. Getting everyone to choose who they bunked with would be a disaster; too many would insist trying to get their own room, which would send costs through the roof. The deal was that, in the week before the meeting, when they sent in all the paperwork, there was an attached sheet detailing if there was anyone they  _ wouldn’t _ share a room with, or if they had  _ preferences _ . If it was blank, they could be randomly paired with anyone. As well, spouses would automatically be roomed together in a one bed room.

Most nations had at least one person on their exclusion list, lest fighting ensue, and the Cold War had been a hard time to plan sleeping arrangements. Some were fine with everyone, or most everyone, and ended up switching around each year. But, of course, patterns fell into place.

Every year, Natalya and Ivan ended up together (Ivan always said whoever, and most people opted to exclude him, and Natalya always requested him). Roderich and Liz ended up together because they were married, and likewise went for Ludwig and Feliciano. Kiku would often end up with Alfred or Heracles.

And, year after year, Francis would end up with Arthur.

It was no mistake. They both wrote down each other as for preferences; that was intentional, too. Since World War Two, or more accurately, post war, they had been seeing each other, privately. Throughout history, they had fallen into an on-again, off-again fiasco, filled with interim war in the breaks. Yet, since Arthur had saved Francis in that war, they had begun a relationship again, though few knew about it.

It had seemed that they had both changed for the better. This was the longest they had gone without intense fighting between them, in fact having been allies in most recent wars. They were agreeing politically in general, and even more so personally. The very nature of their relationship - bickering - had become more casual banter than anything else. It was slow growing, not a winded passion. It was caring; it was sweet and romantic.  _ Arthur _ was those things. And Francis could not say whether he had not seen them before or if Arthur had become them over time, but it didn’t quite matter, because they were there now.

The night before the first day of the three meeting days always hosted a buffet style dinner: it encouraged friendly diplomacy. The nations stayed the night before so they could begin meetings early the next morning, so everyone ended up in the dining hall of the conference hotel and wound up in their rooms at whenever they felt like it. Always a good chance to catch up with friends, Francis found himself chatting with Prussia and Spain. He would, after all, have tonight and two more nights to catch up with Arthur, and three evenings of dinner after each meeting.

As he pressed his key card to the door and opened at the flashing green lights, he found that Arthur was already laying in the room, in bed, reading under the yellow light of the bedside lamp. Francis had set his suitcase near the other bed before dinner, but he had no interest in that bed. He toed his shoes off near the door to the room and sat on the bed next to his reading boyfriend.

“Evening, love,” Arthur said, kissing his lips with a quick peck. Francis dragged his fingers up his lover’s bare arm, then onto the soft cotton fabric of his black Ramones t-shirt. 

Going in for a second, deeper kiss, Francis pulled his legs further onto the bed, his arm slipping behind Arthur’s head to hold him in place as they kissed. Arthur made no objections as Francis bit as his lip. When they broke apart again to breathe, Arthur set his novel on the nightstand and placed his reading glasses gingerly on top.

“Don’t get in bed: you’re still in your suit. You’ll wrinkle it,” said Arthur.

“Then help me take it off.”

Arthur’s fingers slid up under the jacket, pushing it off. Francis obliged him by letting his shoulders fall back, letting him drag the interior silk lining away from the white button up hidden underneath. Placing the jacket gently at the foot of the bed, Arthur returned to dig his fingers into the white buttons of the dress shirt. He tilted his head up to Francis, who sat more vertical in the bed, to kiss his lips as he undid the buttons from touch alone.

Oh, yes, this room request thing was absolutely genius in nature.

 

* * *

The first day of meetings came and went, enjoying its usual bickering and squabbling from the nations. Francis didn’t hate the meetings, but didn’t love them, either. They were preferable to war (he had seen a lot of shit in his days) but they were tedious and some people were plain out stupid in their ideas. The meetings, having started early in the morning, at least ended early to allow them to all eat dinner wherever they pleased.

Ludwig and Feliciano invited Francis and Arthur to dinner, and like an idiot, Francis accepted.

They’d been invited to dinner together, but it was hardly a double date. Because so few people knew about their relationship, no one had ventured so far as to do that. The world saw that they were, at the very least, close friends, and despite their loudmouthed and petty fights, tended to follow each other no matter where they were going.

Francis had not thought much of their reserved relationship; sure, Francis would have liked to be more affectionate, especially with their limited private time, but it also could be exciting when they hid behind pillars or in closets to so much as kiss.

Dinner made Francis realize how much that  _ hurt _ .

Ludwig and Feli had been dating for longer than Arthur and Francis had been, they were engaged, and they were so proud about it.

Each of them had a left hand donning a shiny silver band with a tiny, square, red gem in the center. Feliciano had spent the entire time Ludwig was in the bathroom showing off the ring to Francis and Arthur and beaming. It was perfectly polished and without a scuff, clearly cherished.

“And I want to get even fancier ones when we’re actually married. I’m thinking, like, gold bands with a line of little silver gems down the middle. Oh, and wouldn’t it be so cute if we got those engravings in the middle? I definitely want the date of our wedding inside, but then I can’t decide on the other side, because I saw online, like, the other’s fingerprint with would be so cool but I also kind of like initials, because that’s simpler and sweet. What do you think? Oh, wait, here comes Ludwig,” the Italian rambled. He slipped the ring back onto his finger and away from the watchful eyes of Francis and Arthur. 

Ludwig slipped into the seat next to his fiance and Feli leaned over to kiss him gently. Ludwig brought his hand up to push a piece of hair out of the other’s face when they broke apart, and they were both smiling.

Francis had thought it was almost odd. Ludwig - strong, reserved, private Ludwig, who was a tough soldier - was so tender around Feli, and it was second nature. He had, more a lot of history, been pinned in Francis’ mind as the kind of man who would be very private about such matters, but he was so openly caring.

In his mind, Arthur was also pinned as the reserved boyfriend type. Loving in private, but tough and private in the public eye. The only difference was that Ludwig would show his love in public, not just private.

That continued to be clear throughout the meal, as the German would slide his right arm around Feli’s torso and pull him closer or as he would casually throw out endearing things to say. They all reached the point in dinner where everyone was getting tired and full; Feliciano’s plate was empty, but he slumped back in his seat as he sipped his wine with his right hand. Ludwig put his hand on the table to wrap around Feli’s.

That, really, must have been where Francis’ stomach twisted into knots. Because if stoic Ludwig could be so openly loving in public, why couldn’t Arthur, who was less stoic to begin? 

Under the table, Francis pushed his fingers over experimentally. The pads of his fingers brushed along the side of Arthur’s wrist, and Arthur kept talking excitedly as if he had not noticed, as if it had been an accidental bump. Francis pushed closer up, slipping his fingers between his boyfriend’s palm and the seat.

Without so much as faltering in the conversation, without so much as looking at Francis or their hands, he yanked his hand away and set it on his lap, out of Francis’ reach. The Frenchman pouted into his wine glass.

Right. Of course not.

Of course not.

And, perhaps, things would have been okay at that, really, but the taxi ride home was an entire disaster all together. Arthur had hailed the cab and slipping into the front seat, leaving his boyfriend to sit in the back with the engaged couple, Feli sitting in the middle.

Since they’d decided to go out, and there was evening traffic, the ride would be about twenty minutes. It must have been halfway through when the two men to Francis’ started to kiss. It was one peck at first, except then it was  _ certainly more than one kiss _ , and, really, Francis just wanted to get out of the car. It was so reminiscent of Arthur when they were in private, but in public, he wouldn’t so much as hold his boyfriend’s hand under the table. 

Ouch.

Francis didn’t want to be so affected by it. It was petty, really; he’d never been too bothered about it before in their relationship. But there was something, watching Ludwig and Feli, about how caring and comfortable they were. As they stepped out of the cab and into the hotel lobby, Francis decided that love wasn’t supposed to be hiding in janitor’s closets to kiss, it was supposed to be telling the world how you felt because you felt it so strongly.

In the elevator, after Ludwig and Feli had gotten off, Arthur leaned over to kiss Francis’ cheek. As the door opened on their floor, he jumped back.

Behind the safety of their closed hotel door, Arthur pushed Francis against the wall, and Francis let him. The Frenchman, despite his frustrations, pushed his fingers along Arthur’s exposed throat, his collarbones, his chest. And then he pushed Arthur back.

“It’s late,” he justified. “We should go to bed. More meetings tomorrow, of course.”

By the time Arthur had finished dressing down for bed in the bathroom, Francis was laying in bed, the bed with his suitcase at the bottom, facing the wall. Francis felt the bed dip behind him after the light clicked out, felt Arthur slip an arm around his waist from behind, felt Arthur’s lips press a kiss to the back of his neck.

“Goodnight, dear,” Arthur hummed.

 

* * *

 

The second day of meetings, when Francis woke up, the bed was empty and cold. Arthur was a morning shower-er, heading to shower in the morning, and Francis would shower in the evening, giving him a few minutes of rest. This morning, as he woke alone, he still felt a twinge of that off feeling from the previous night’s meal.

Maybe it hadn’t been that bad. Maybe the wine had gotten to his head. Maybe he had imagined the whole hand-holding thing: maybe he’d imagined trying to touch Arthur’s hand all together.

That was what Francis told himself as Arthur came out of the bathroom, all dressed in his business clothes, and kissed Francis on his lips as if everything were fine. Because everything was fine, and Francis was overreacting, because it really had been nothing.

“I’ll come find you at the lunch break,” Arthur promised. “And after the meeting. We can get dinner, just us, yeah?”

“Mhm.”

The lunch break came around surprisingly fast, and, as promised, Arthur found his boyfriend. Francis had been talking to Feliciano again, who had snagged him away from the group while Ludwig went to talk to Roderich and Liz about whatever. Feliciano was asking for some wedding advice, of course, insisting that Francis was the country of  _ love _ so he would obviously be the best person to help Feliciano come up with ideas for colors for the wedding; he and Ludwig were trying to decide between a light blue color scheme, or a light green, and Feli wanted a third person point of view.

“Is it inside or outside?” Francis asked. “Because I think go light blue for outside, because it’ll be spring, and there’ll be enough green outside, that the light blue would be a good contrast.”

“I know, right?” Feliciano responded, getting that excited look in his eyes again.

It was nice to see Feli so excited about it; Francis, basically a brother to the younger nation, had watched the rise and fall of Holy Rome, and of the nation’s heart alone with him. He had seen Feli heartbroken and insistent that he would die without love. Francis wanted to chuckle about those memories, because it was so clear that Ludwig was head over heels for the Italian.

Arthur wandered over to the pair. Francis wanted to see something…

They were standing pretty close, shoulder to shoulder, so as he continued to talk with his friend about the wedding, Francis slipped a hand behind Arthur’s back, and as he was about to settle his fingers on the opposite hip, Arthur jumped away.

“Just what do you think you’re doing?” he exclaimed loudly, causing the nearby Ludwig, Liz, and Roderich to look over, as well as interrupting Feli mid-sentence. Francis daintily pulled his hand close to his body.

“Nothing,” he said in a simple tone. “I’m so sorry he interrupted, Feli, what were you saying?”

Francis was quite aware of the way Arthur leaned away from him for the rest of the conversation, the way he slipped away without a word when the lunch break ended, the way he cast his eyes to the paper stack in front of him on the desk instead of the other nations - especially his boyfriend and the onlookers of the incident - as he attempted to straighten it, as if that were even possible due to its perfectly lined borders. His face was red hot, as if he were the one who would be embarrassed by it.

Inevitably, if anyone thought anything of his outburst, it would be against Francis, not Arthur, as everyone would assume Francis had done something wrong to make the other jump away. Still, Francis didn’t bother trying to catch his eye for the rest of the meeting, staring out the window with an annoyed expression when Arthur stood to speak.

Alfred, sitting to Francis’ right and between him and the window, scribbled on a piece of paper  _ You ok?? You seem upset _

_ All is well, don’t worry _ , Francis wrote back. 

As promised, and like was followed through on at lunch, Arthur found Francis after the meeting. When he did, Francis was talking to his table neighbor, saying, “Alfred, did you do something different with your hair? Style it differently?”

“I gelled it a little bit. I thought it gave a more mature look, being a little more up like this,” Alfred said, giving a little shrug. “Cool, huh?”

“Oh, it’s very mature,” Francis drawled, feeling his boyfriend hovering somewhere behind him. “Cute, too. May I touch it?” he asked, holding his hand up a little. After an approving affirmation from the younger nation, he brought his fingers up and pushed them through the blonde locks. On the outside of the pair, Francis could feel Arthur seething, and he smirked a little bit. What was he going to do? He wouldn’t protest Francis flirting with another person without a reason, and when he refused to admit their relationship, what reason would he give? 

He felt a hand on his shoulder. “Francis, dinner,” Arthur said through a strained voice.

“Oh, right,” Francis said. “We’re getting dinner. Maybe you want to come with us? We can find some girl for Arthur to talk to which will give me plenty of time to play with your lovely hair.”

Was it petty? Absolutely. Francis wouldn’t try to tell anyone that it was the nicest thing he had done, or that it was in any sense called for. Flirting with someone else when he had a boyfriend - especially his boyfriend’s little brother, and in front of his boyfriend - was wrong in every book, but maybe it would get Arthur to do something. As  _ wrong _ as it sounded, claim him. Mark him.

“We’re getting  _ room service _ , so that won’t work. Sorry Alfred,” Arthur said, grabbing Francis’ arm and digging him away from the young nation with his nails dug into his bicep.

In the elevator, Arthur snapped, “What the fuck was that?”

“What was what?” Francis asked, playing dumb.

“You were flirting with my brother, that’s what.”

“I just said I liked his hair,” Francis huffed, crossing his arms.

Arthur rolled his eyes but dropped it as they went into the hotel room. Francis quickly sifted through the room service catalog to find something that seemed decent. It was a very nice hotel, so of course everything looked fancy as all get out, but he settled on some fish pasta dish and asked Arthur to order it in while he went to shower. 

The shower was hot, and the bathroom was filled with stream when he stepped into the well of the bathroom. He was met with Arthur’s knocking to let him know that the food had arrived. Toweling off, he slid into the pajamas he’d brought to the bathroom and opened the door, letting the steam diffuse into the room. 

Arthur was sitting at the hotel room table, eating across from Francis’ plate. Francis slipped across from him to eat; it had been a long day and he was starving.

Silence followed. It was uncharacteristic.  _ Wrong _ . There was hardly silence between them. The air was always filled with bickering or conversation or compliments or soft little whimpers. There was only the sound of metal fork on porcelain plate.

“This is nice,” Arthur said, unsarcastic. “We haven’t gotten to see each other that much lately.”

“Yeah.”

It was true; they’d both been busy. Luckily, they lived close enough to each other that it was possible to meet up without destroying their schedules, but Arthur had been dealing with a lot of economic shit in his country, dealing with late evenings. Francis had been juggling the usual tasks, which seemed to be increased, similar to Arthur’s.

The silence returned. Arthur frowned at his plate.

Francis, post meal, busied himself by cleaning up some of his things. They would be leaving in the evening after the last day of meetings ended the next day, so it would be better to clean up as much as he could then to avoid a morning scramble. 

Reclined on his bed, Arthur said, “Francis, love, you look tired. You should come lay down.”

It was an invitation, Francis was aware. He was supposed to go over and recline next to his lover on the bed, and Arthur would wrap an arm around him and kiss his cheek.

Mood still sour, and admittedly annoyed, he tossed himself on the second bed, glancing over at Arthur and the novel in his lap. He looked shocked that the man would lay away from him, especially with the obvious open half of the bed to the side of him. He opened his mouth, but Francis knew he was just going to ask why he hadn’t gone to his side like he usually would have. 

Casting a hand over his eyes, Francis said, “You said I looked tired, so how can I sleep with that reading light of yours pointed at your bed?”

“I can turn it off.”

“I don’t want to,” Francis huffed.

“Are you mad at me?” Arthur asked, as if he were only now picking up on it. Francis huffed into his arm again. “You are, aren’t you, love?”

“Don’t call me that,” Francis let out. He finally found comprehensive words to describe his anger, his hurt, that went past trivial actions. “You can’t just act like you love me only behind closed doors. You’re either my boyfriend all the time or not at all. It… hurts. Especially when you pull away and freak out at the lightest touch in public. You shouldn’t be ashamed of our relationship, and if you are, then why are we in one?”

Arthur, by this point, had discarded his book on his bed to slide into Francis’ bed next to him. “It’s not… Francis, I’m not… It’s not like  _ that _ .”

Francis averted his eyes. “What is it like, then? I try to hold your hand in public, and you pull away; I try to put my arm around you, and you yell and make the whole room stare. But then, away from everyone else, you’re pushing me against walls and kissing me. What is it? Do you hate my touch or do you like it? Because even Ludwig is fine with it with Feli.  _ Ludwig _ . But you just act like I’m some sort of… dirty little secret that no one can know about. And it  _ hurts _ .”

“It’s embarrassing,” Arthur murmured.

This was the worst way to describe what he was feeling, because it sent a glaring look from Francis that was fast enough it could have given him whiplash. “Our relationship is  _ embarrassing?” _

“No, no, no, no, Francis, I don’t mean it like that. Just, like, this whole relationship thing is embarrassing, not you. Like, kissing in front of other people. And… touching. And all of that stuff. It’s so vulnerable, and I feel like everyone will stare at us if we do anything.”

Francis replied bitterly, “People are only going to stare if you keep getting all weird about it.”

Arthur let out a breath. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize it upset you so much.”

“It’s fine,” Francis said quietly.

A hand found his in the covers, fingers interlocking as Arthur brought his hand to his mouth, placing a kiss on the back, exposed side of his hand. He repeated his apology between knuckle kisses. He promised that he would try to be better about it, if Francis agreed to start out with little things which weren’t too blatant. Hold handing, or cheek kisses, or similar. When Francis nodded in agreement, that earned a kiss to the lips, sealing the deal.

 

* * *

Francis and Arthur sent their suitcases early in the morning, checking out of the hotel before meetings began. They’d take the train home at the end of the day and get meals there. Arthur interlocked their fingers as they walked from the room to the meeting hall.

Before it began, the nations stood around, talking quietly (or, at least, trying to be quiet) before the start of their business. When Ludwig stood at the front and requested that everyone get to their seats to begin (and end) business as quickly as possible, Arthur leaned over a pressed a short kiss onto Francis’ lips before turning around and scampering to his desk with rosy red cheeks. Francis smiled softly.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!! I got the idea in my head and absolutely had to write it out tonight, but there will be updates to my other stories coming soon.


End file.
